Aspirations — III.

Weeping, weary, did I wanderThro' the world's wide weird wood;Wet my cheeks with drops of sorrow;Wet my soles with drops of blood;

Tumbling here, and stumbling yonder,Bramble-bruised, with thorns all torn,For the path I groped despairing,For a light I sighed forlorn.

But thou took'st me, strong and tender,Oh my master, by the hand;Pity, cheer, reproach, and rousingIn thy words did sweetly blend.

Tho' the way is wild as ever,Still I falter not, nor fear;Led by thee, I'll pierce the forest,See the vaulting skies appear.